


A Hanukkah Story

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Time, Hanukkah, Holidays, M/M, Post-Series, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small story of finding happiness and celebrating the find...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hanukkah Story

**Author's Note:**

> Author's website: http://alysbasement.livejournal.com/  
> Not mine (not true, they ARE mine) and making no money (that's VERY true). Was written for the 2005 TS Secret Santa challenge and written for Hyperfocused, who wanted a story that focused on Blair's Jewish heritage. This story takes place six years after TSbyBS

**A Hanukkah Story by alyjude**

 

_Thursday, December 22, 2005_

Jim opened the basement door and flicked on the light. He waited a moment, allowing the musty smell that had accumulated on the other side of the door to evaporate. Once satisfied, he started down the stairs.

It was damp in the basement but he didn't mind. He just shook it off. At the bottom, he turned left, to space number three-o-seven. He unlocked the bin and let the door swing wide. Camping equipment he hadn't used in years faced him, along with fishing gear (also unused in years). There were also several boxes, the contents of which were, for the most part, unremembered--except the two near the rear of the top shelf. They were labeled simply "Holidays" and written in Blair's sprawling scrawl. They were also why he'd come down to the building's basement.

With some judicious rearranging, Jim was able to pull them out and down. He locked the cupboard back up, put one box on top of the other, and started up the stairs while carefully balancing his load as he negotiated the steep steps.

As he reached the top, he was very grateful for the elevator that would take him to the third floor. At times like these--and thank God they were rare--he felt every minute of his forty-five years. In the elevator, he relaxed back against the wall. His breathing was even and he was proud of that fact. His legs might have felt the climb with two heavy boxes, but his lungs were great. Must be all those years chasing criminals around Cascade--which conversely explained the soreness in his legs. He snorted at that thought just as the elevator came to a smooth stop on his floor. He got out and, thankful that he'd thought to leave the front door open, walked into his home.

He put the boxes on the table and, in spite of the cold weather, decided a beer was in order. He got one, carried it to the table and sat down. He took a few sips before pulling the first box toward him. After peeling off the tape, he opened it.

"Ah, good. The lights for the balcony along with the wreaths and garland. But the Santa should be in here... ah, here it is." He lifted the jolly man up to get a better look... and grinned. Still looked good after all these years. His red coat, the white fur, all clean if a bit wrinkled. His boots and belt needed wiping, and his right cheek had a smear of something....

Oh, yeah, cranberry sauce. Jim chuckled as he remembered. Sandburg had just finished off a turkey, cranberry and cream cheese sandwich when he'd started to put some decorations away. He'd had cranberry on his thumb and it had transferred itself to the Santa. Instead of wiping it off, he'd said, " _Now_ he has a rosy cheek."

He set the figure down and pulled out the rest of their meager decorations. At least... they seemed meager now. When he was done, he frowned. Okay, must be in the second box. He opened it and found the tree ornaments, tree lights, more garland, more decorations, and even some leftover wrapping paper. Typical Sandburg.

Jim lifted the last of the garlands out and at the bottom, wrapped in bubble wrap, he found the final item. With a gentle touch, he lifted it out and slowly removed the protective sheeting.

Blair's menorah.

He ran a finger up and over the beautiful candelabra before setting it down and going into the kitchen. Under the sink, he found the silver polish. He took a clean cloth from another drawer and went back to the table. For the next several minutes, he painstakingly polished the menorah to a bright shine; restoring it to its previous glory. When he was done, he walked over to the small table he'd already set next to the windows and put the menorah down. Even though Hanukkah began the day after Christmas this year, he had every intention of enjoying the menorah's simple beauty now.

The phone rang at that moment but he didn't rush to answer, allowing the machine to pick up.

_"Unable to come to the phone--leave a message if you must."_

_beep_

_"Jim, it's Simon. I know you're there so pick up the damn phone."_

Grinning, Jim picked up. "Merry Christmas to you too."

_You and your answer machine. What happened to the days when the only time I heard that damn thing was when you really weren't there?"_

"Well, now you don't call me if I'm not here, because you know when I'm not here because I'm at the station or with you. And Merry Christmas--again."

_"Grrrr. You win. Are we still on for Sunday?"_

"You have to ask, Commissioner Banks?"

_"I know how your calendar is--busy, busy, busy Not. But I was afraid you'd back out like you did last year so just thought I'd check. And I've been the commissioner for three weeks now, Jim, so cut it out. It's getting old."_

"Nonsense. Major accomplishment, worth celebrating for months. Speaking of months--what about Daryl?"

_"He arrives on the twenty-sixth and can stay through the second. He also heavily hinted that at some point, someone special might be joining us. I think he has a girlfriend."_

"Of course he does. But the fact that he's invited her to meet you and join you guys for New Year's means she's more than just a girl friend. I think you're going to be meeting your future daughter-in-law, old man."

_"Hey, watch who you're calling old. There's only a few years between us, old man." _

Laughing, Jim said, "Point to you."

_"Oh, Megan wanted me to remind you about tomorrow night. You're still planning on attending, right?_ "

"Actually--"

_"Damn it, Jim, the entire crew's expecting you. Don't pull this crap again. You may no longer be a detective but you are a consultant and a damn important one. You work with those people and they care about you. Hell, even Joel's going to be there."_

"I didn't go last year, or the year before. Why is this one so important all of a sudden?"

_"You know why. Lots of changes, all good, and we want to celebrate as the family we are. And it doesn't work without you, you idiot. Now you know that I'd love nothing more than to sic Captain Connor on you, so give me anymore of this shit and that's what I'll do."_

"All right, all right, I'll be there."

_"Good. So, I'll see you tomorrow and then on Sunday, I'll be there around two bearing my creamed corn, as requested, okay?"_

"Sounds good. See you tomorrow."

They hung up and Jim sat down at the table. Without conscious thought, he started unraveling the lights and tightening the bulbs. Simon would be pretty surprised to find the loft decorated when he arrived on Sunday. Jim hadn't put up so much as a green Christmas twig since nineteen-ninety-nine.

He glanced back at the phone and wondered how the hell Simon could think they could celebrate "as a family" when one family member was so obviously missing.

*****

Jim cut the ropes, rolled them up and tossed them in the back of the truck. He pulled the tree down, dropped it on the old sheet he'd laid out, gathered the ends of the material and started dragging the tree toward the lobby door. What the hell had possessed him to get such a large tree, anyway? A table topper would have been enough. But no, he had to get a seven-footer. At least he'd had the brains to bring down something to carry it in. Made it much easier to get the tree inside and up three flights of stairs; the elevator being less than a practical choice given the size of the tree.

Huffing and puffing, he pulled it up the last step and got his front door open, taking a moment to get his breath in the guise of checking out the door wreath.

Careful of the floor, he got the tree over to the windows and up on its stand. Stepping back, he wiped his hands on his jeans and checked it out.

It was a Fraser Fir and smelled terrific. With a critical eye, he realized some trimming would be necessary to get the symmetrical look that would satisfy him. He got the pruning shears from the shelf out on the balcony and, utilizing a stool, started his tree trimming. When he was done, he had to admit that he had one beautiful tree. He looked down at the pile of branches--the great smelling branches--and over at the big, fat red candle that he'd pulled from the box of decorations, and decided to use them together. Channeling God knew who, he artfully arranged the boughs in the center of the coffee table and then took the candle and placed it in the center.

Stepping back and giving his masterpiece the once over, he decided something was missing. Rubbing his chin, he thought about it... and thought about it....

He snapped his fingers--got it! He walked into the kitchen and opened the emergency drawer... flashlights, batteries... ah, here we go. Small, white candles. Yep, these would work fine. He took four of them back to the coffee table and, with a critical eye, set them on various boughs.

Heh.

Perfect.

Okay, so time to decorate the rest of the loft, have some dinner and, over some holiday music and perhaps an Irish coffee, he'd decorate the tree. Sounded like he had a plan.

The next hour found him fighting with himself over where everything should go. He was vaguely disappointed that he didn't remember where certain items had been placed in previous years. He should, but he didn't. But somehow, he managed and, when he was done, he was pretty satisfied.

Two of the four wreaths that he apparently owned--a 'scratch your head' moment if there ever was one--were hung from the windows so that they could be seen from outside. One wreath was, of course, hung on the front door, but the other had posed a bit of a problem. Where the hell had it hung? He'd finally decided that what mattered was where he wanted it now--so there it was--on the French doors that led to Blair's bedroom. Looked good too.

The Christmas hurricane lamp nestled in a circle of holly and ivy took up center stage on the dining room table and he was actually looking forward to lighting the candle inside. One of the few pieces that he'd actually purchased; a cooking Santa, complete with apron, mixing bowl and wooden spoon, sat on the center island counter in the kitchen surrounded by a fake evergreen garland. The cheerful red Santa with the "rosy" cheek courtesy of cranberry sauce, sat on the stereo cabinet along with the grazing reindeer, a hand-carved wooden sleigh and a North 'Pole' festooned with red and white ribbons. The balcony railing was now lit up with a strand of lights as were the windows.

Yep, he was decorated. He'd even saved a couple of items for his room and the bathroom.

He figured all this decorating would get him a nice stay at Conover once Simon got a look. Grinning, he walked into the kitchen and started dinner.

*****

His home was illuminated by nothing but the holiday lights and he sat contentedly on the couch, a cup of Irish coffee in his hand. He was staring at the tree, but not really seeing it. He hadn't started decorating it yet, but he would--soon. For now, it was enough to sit quietly, take in the fresh scent of the fir, and just... contemplate.

Odd.

He'd figured that if he decorated, he'd feel something. Anything. Anything but the loneliness that followed on the heels of his shadow. He thought--maybe--he'd be able to feel Sandburg. That there'd be something of him in the decorations; something besides cranberry sauce.

But there wasn't.

Oh, there were memories, memories of each item that had joined his once meager stash of decorations--all due to Sandburg. There were memories of past Hanukkahs too--like making latkes together and arguing over whether applesauce or sour cream constituted the perfect accompaniment. Jim hated the applesauce on the savory cakes--Blair had loved it. And there were memories of watching Blair light his menorah and recite the appropriate prayers. He could almost see him... hair loose and surrounded by a nimbus of golden lights, thanks to the candles and the white lights that had trimmed the windows....

This was getting him nowhere fast. Not that he had anywhere to go or anywhere he needed to be.

Damn.

Jim got up and walked over to the French doors. He put his hand on the knob--but didn't turn it. He hadn't been inside since....

Speaking of which, he needed to deliver Angelica's gift to her tomorrow. He hadn't been home--he never was--when she'd cleaned the loft and... Blair's room... so he'd missed giving it to her. Now he had something to do tomorrow before going to the Major Crime Christmas party.

With a start, he realized his hand was still on the knob. He didn't remove it. Maybe tonight he'd have the nerve to open it and walk inside.

Or not.

Hell, if he wanted to _feel_ Sandburg, where better to do it then his room?

By some miracle, he could feel the knob turning under his hand and, a moment later, the door swung open. The blinds on the window over the futon were down and thus it took a moment for even _his_ eyes to adjust. Once they did, he took a tentative step inside and stopped.

The bed was made; courtesy of Angelica's handiwork.  The bright Peruvian blanket was tucked neatly under and around the two pillows. Brightly colored, woven decorative pillows sat along the back of the futon, and Jim could almost imagine Blair sitting against them, laptop open and perched precariously on his crossed legs.

Jim closed his eyes and took in a deep breath....

**GOD DAMMIT.**

Not so much as a whiff of Blair.

Six years, he shouldn't be surprised. Six years.

"Oh, God."

Six... long... lonely years.

Not that he hadn't lived, because he had. Life had gone on. Changed, as life always did. His father had died four years ago--heart attack in his sleep; no pain. Steven was married now and living in New York, but they talked regularly, and he was an uncle now. Two-year-old William Joseph. The Steven Ellison family would be here later in January and he'd be seeing his nephew for the first time. What did that say about a man with no life, who was living it and yet couldn't even manage to get to New York to see Steven and his son?

But Steven had understood.

Jim moved further in and finally over to the bed, where he sat down. He took one of the pillows and held it as he looked around. There were books on shelves, albeit fewer than normal, and the usual knick-knacks on the desk and shelf above the bed, but there were items missing too. A few photos, not all, and of course, Blair's laptop was gone. And the Burton monograph--Naomi had that.

He really needed to decorate the tree. He started to get up when a thought struck. He looked at his watch and smiled. There was time.

*****

This tree was easier to get up to the loft. It was only three feet tall and would fit easily on Blair's desk. He carried it upstairs and into his home. Taking a few of the tree decorations and one smaller strand of lights, he walked back into Blair's old room. Light on, he set the tree on the desk and began to decorate it.

*****

Both trees were done and lit. Jim felt very accomplished--and ridiculous.

There was absolutely no reason to do what he'd done. None. It wasn't as if Blair was going to walk through that door and say, "Hi, Jim. Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah." No, that wasn't going to happen. But he could hear Simon's voice now.

_"Aw, Jim... you didn't."_

Personally, Jim thought Simon should be happy for him. Didn't the fact that he'd decorated mean-- _prove_ \--that he'd moved on? Finally? That life went on? And gosh, it had only taken... six years. Wow.

Fuck.

Simon would say, "Aw, Jim... you didn't," because he'd know exactly what this meant.

Jim had decorated for Blair.

Because of Blair.

Blair had been gone longer than he'd been with Jim and yet... those three years with Blair in his life had been... real. Real life. In color, with stereo surround-sound and special effects. Since then--black and white, cheap, 'B' movie special effects and dull, monotone sound. Not even his senses could improve on the quality of his life. But he'd kept them, out of stubbornness, maybe, but still, he'd kept them.

_*"Dear Jim,_

_This is one hard letter to write, but it has to be done. You're my best friend and I care about you more than I should and I've made a nice mess of things. We both know I can't take that badge, Jim. Not that I wouldn't love to be your official (and unofficial) partner, because I would. But--and isn't there always? But it would only fan the flames that are just now beginning to die down. Major Crime might accept me--a liar and a fraud--but the rest of the world won't, which means they'll start asking questions you can't afford. Like: "The guy lied about him, nearly got him killed and yet he's working with him? Why? Could it be that he didn't lie? Is Jim Ellison a sentinel?"_

_So I leave._

_It's the best way, the only answer. I'm going to travel for a while but I'll keep in touch--phone--write--email. You'll write back, answer my emails but eventually we'll stop. Eventually I'll settle down, get some kind of job.  You'll shut off your senses, go back to the life you had BBS (as in Before Blair Sandburg) and you'll be, hopefully, happy._

_My room will return to being your closet and you can bring the camping and fishing equipment back upstairs where they belong. No more hair in the drain, no more junk you can't pronounce, no more annoying singing off tune and no more 'faster than you' races to the bathroom that left you with no hot water because I always won. Although we both know that running out of hot water with that water heater? No way, man. Oh, hey, now you can eat all the Wonder burgers you want, Jim. No pesky sidekick warning you about your arteries. Just think: Peace, quiet and junk food will reign again in the Ellison household._

_This is a good thing, Jim. The best thing. The right thing. _

_Have a great life, find the right redhead with legs up to 'here' and preferably non-criminal, settle down, have kids, and be happy._

_Love,_

_Blair_

_PS: BTW? Little Guppy, Jim? You're just lucky you never used it in front of the guys. I'd have stood on a chair and decked you one."*_

He knew the letter by heart even though he'd destroyed it fifteen minutes after reading it. On the other hand, prior to destroying it, he'd read it about fifty times. Damn well ought to have it memorized.

He hadn't turned off his senses, although he'd come close. But Blair's words haunted him and he gradually came to the realization that turning them off would somehow dishonor Blair. So he'd gone on. He'd finally taken the lieutenant's exam five years ago and made it. Nice bump in pay and he'd moved into the 2IC position within Major Crime. Joel had worked hard to be his 'Sandburg' and it had worked--for three whole years. Sort of.

He'd become acquainted once again with the infamous "zone-out factor" but Joel had usually been able to bring him out--after several minutes.

Eventually, who and what he was had somehow become common knowledge around the PD.   Which meant that what Blair had done for him also became common knowledge.

And the phone calls, letters and emails had, indeed, dwindled down to nothing.

The last time Jim had heard from Blair, he'd been on some island with Naomi. That had been in October of 2002.

Funny--ironic even--that Blair had been with him for three years and it had taken three years for the communications to stop.

Oh, he'd thought about looking for him; thought about it a great deal, but he'd never done more than check flights. Blair had seemed to be moving on, literally--his emails, calls and letters always cheerful and full of adventures. He might not have his doctorate, or be living the life of an anthropologist, but he was happy and traveling and living the life Jim had always felt was right for him.

So he'd stayed in Cascade and went on with his life--such as it was.

Blair had flown the coop and found freedom while Jim remained behind--a prisoner.

And not once in the last six years had Jim begrudged Blair his happiness.  Which was how he'd discovered that he loved the guy. Really, truly, deeply, loved the guy.

So... he'd decorated, finally. And the real reason was that it was Christmas and Hanukkah and miracles were known to happen this time of year, and if Blair were going to "drop in" and say hi, it would be just like him to do so over Christmas.

Just like him.

Jim would open the door and they'd stare at each other and six years would disappear. Jim would say what he should have said six years ago, and Blair would fall into his arms and they'd kiss.

Damn, he had a remarkably vivid imagination--for a guy.

Laughing at himself--at the idiotic person he'd become--Jim got up, turned off all the Christmas lights, locked up and went upstairs.

He stripped down to his boxers and crawled under the covers. He needed to be up early.  He had to go shopping for his and Simon's Christmas Eve supper, and he needed to buy a gift for the party--since it was obvious he was going.

And Blair would never show up on his doorstep. Never. That was a fact he needed to accept.

*****

_Friday, December 23, 2005_

"You came."

"Apparently," Jim said with a smile. "How ya doing, Captain?"

Megan grinned and said, "Not bad. Not bad at all. I'm not Simon, but things are running, as you well know."

"You must be doing a bang-up job since you haven't needed me for a couple of weeks."

"Things have been quiet, I must admit. And it makes me nervous," Megan added as they walked toward the buffet table and the bar. "Calm before the storm and all that."

"Know what you mean."

She handed him a plate and took one herself and, as they started down the line, said, "Have you heard from Sandy?"

"Subtle, Connor, real subtle," Jim said as he forked a huge slice of ham onto his plate.

"Wasn't aiming for subtle, Jim. Have you?"

He shook his head and ladled a couple of healthy spoonfuls of potato salad down next to the ham. "This looks terrific. Did George and his wife do it?"

"Would it be the Major Crime Christmas party if they didn't?"

Laughing, Jim said, "No. But you have the right to set your own traditions now. You be the man--or person."

"But Dottie and George are great cooks, why would I want to change?"

"Can't argue with that."

"Hey, Jim, you made it!" Henri Brown, now Lieutenant Brown, slapped him on the back. "We took bets on whether you'd show. I won."

"Good for you, H. Is Alicia here?"

"Of course, although it was a tough sell. Jake has the croup--and wouldn't you think by now, the medical community could have found a cure for that? Or at least a better name?"

"Have they cured diaper rash yet?" Connor asked with a straight face.

"Very funny, Cap. Very funny. Hey, Jim, you'll sit with us, right? It's the old gang. Rafe, Joel--he got here about thirty minutes ago--"

"Save us both a seat, H," Connor said as she poured the salad dressing onto the mixed greens.

"Will do, Cap."

"Save a seat for Simon too," she added. "He'll be in a few."

"Cool."

Henri ambled off and Megan said, "We're glad you came, Jim. We've missed you the last couple of weeks. The place isn't the same without you."

"But we're not encouraging a crime wave, are we?" he said with a grin.

"God forbid. But still... we miss you. Are you sure you wouldn't like to come back full time?"

"I'm sure. Besides, Joel's retired now and I don't think either of us want to train someone new to handle my... peculiarities."

"But we could and would. Henri would love the chance to work with you."

"Can we table this 'til after the holidays?" Jim asked as they walked into the ballroom.

"Okay, okay, forget I said anything--until January second."

*****

"I admit it, Jim. I thought you'd be a no-show," Simon said as he sat down opposite.

"Surprise," Jim said cheerily. "And the ham is to die for, by the way."

"Always is, Jim. Always is," Simon agreed as he winked at Megan.

*****

Rubbing his temples, Jim rode the elevator up to the third floor. The party, while great, had left him with a splitting headache. The scents, sounds and smells had finally overwhelmed him around midnight and he'd said his goodbyes. The elevator opened but he didn't move right away, preferring to rest against the back wall of the car, eyes closed. When the door started to slide shut, he pushed the open button, gave himself a mental shake, and stepped out. He turned left and came to a dead stop.

Jim blinked hard a couple of times and cocked his head. A man sat in front of his door; a man wearing a green and white Hawaiian shirt, jeans, a brown bomber jacket and... Nikes with... Christmas socks.

Short, dark curly hair... a few streaks of gray... glasses....

Jim thought he was going to choke so he quickly coughed in an attempt to clear the strange obstruction... and the man seated against his door lifted his head.

"Oh, hi, Jim. Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah.""

Keys dangling from his finger tips, Jim continued to stare.

Blair scrambled up, brushed off the back of his jeans, and picked up his backpack. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by and say... you know... hello. Funny, though. I looked up and saw the decorations and the tree through the window and figured you must have moved, but then I went inside and your name was still there... so I came up. That was about three hours ago. I saw the wreath and figured... you know, you'd hardly decorate if you were going away for the holidays, so you must be here and I decided to... wait. Silly, but there it is. And by the way, what happened to the key over the door? Not that I would have let myself in, mind you--oh, hell, we _both_ know I would have--but really, no key?"

Jim snapped his mouth shut and kept staring.

"What? Come on, man, I don't look that different. Well, maybe I do. The hair and all," he said with a self-conscious grin. He fingered the short, black curls and said, "Gray too. Not a lot, but enough to remind me of the passing years. You ought to see Naomi though--still not a single strand of silver and she doesn't dye it either. She's back in Big Sur--for good now.   And yeah, I know, I haven't shaved in a few days.  I drove up, long haul from San Diego, that's where I settled, teaching school-anthropology.  And yes, I'm Dr. Sandburg now--amazing how time blunts memories, isn't it? And aren't you going to say something? Anything? 'Hi, Sandburg, fancy meeting you here.'"

Jim blinked again and said, "Hi, Sandburg, fancy meeting you here."

"He talks!" Blair crowed as he pumped his arm down. "The Amazing Ellison."

Jim moved past Blair and unlocked the front door. He walked in and was surprised when Blair didn't follow. He turned around and said, "Well?"

"So, what, I'm being invited in?"

"Oh, hell, Sandburg. Get your ass inside and shut the door."

Blair stepped in and shut the door. He looked around and whistled. "Wow, you pulled out all the old decorations. Looks...."

He stopped as his gaze fell on his menorah. "You go Jewish on me or something, Jim?"

"No," Jim said as he walked into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and took out two beers. Walking back toward Blair, he held out one of them.

"Thanks," Blair said even as he looked back at the menorah. He coughed a bit and went back to looking around. He took a swallow of the beer and, after wiping his lips, said, "Everything looks the same, so I'm thinking you haven't... you know, taken a wife... or anything. But you were out tonight? Who's the lucky lady?"

"I was at the Major Crime Christmas party. Stayed a few hours, got a headache, and came home. To find you on my doorstep."

"Yeah, we covered that. So how is everyone? Megan must be proud--or should I say, Captain Connor?"

That got Jim's attention. He gave Blair a quizzical look and asked, "How did you know?"

"Oh, that. I kind of... you know, kept tabs on... everyone. No biggie. I was jazzed when I found out Simon made commissioner. First black police commissioner in Washington. Very cool."

"You _have_ been keeping track. I guess you know I retired, then?"

"Well, you're a consultant and a lieutenant. Congratulations, by the way."

"You seem to know a great deal more about me than I know about you," he said sarcastically.

Blair looked at him then and something flickered in his eyes before he shrugged and said, "You could have found out--like I did. But I understand." He'd set his backpack down when he'd walked in, and now he lifted it up again. "I guess I'd better go. It's late, you must be tired. If you want to... talk... or anything, I'm at the Carlyle." He held out a hand and waited. When Jim made no move to take it, he dropped it as his cheeks went pink. Ducking his head, he said, "Well, see you. And thanks for the beer, man."

Blair put the bottle down on the island counter, opened the door and walked out, shutting it behind him.

There was no hesitation in his movements, no indication that he expected Jim to stop him. His footsteps receded--he was using the stairs--and at one point, he hastened his step until Jim could tell he was almost running.

Taking another sip of his beer, Jim swallowed and said, "That went well."

*****

How was it that he hadn't said any of the words he'd planned? Could someone explain that? Even as he hurried over to the windows and the balcony, he wasn't surprised when no answer came to him. He looked down... and there was Blair, running across the street. Jim heard the telltale beep of an alarm and the lights on a black Ford Explorer came on. Blair almost threw himself into the driver's seat, started the engine and roared away from 852 Prospect.

Jim felt his throat closing up and realized that if he didn't do something, and fast, he would lose everything that had just shown up on his doorstep.

He walked over to the phone and dialed the Carlyle. When they answered, he said, "Do you have a Blair Sandburg registered? No? What? Yes, I'll hold." He waited, body taut. "You do? A reservation for tonight? Yes, thank you."

He hung up the phone, grabbed his jacket and keys and headed out, destination: The Carlyle.

*****

Blair walked into the Carlyle and up to registration.

"May I help you, sir?"

"Reservation, Sandburg."

"Ah, yes. If you'd fill this out and I'll need a card for incidentals."

Blair took out his AmEx and slid it over to the woman. He picked up the pen she'd set down for him and started to fill out the registration card. When he was done, he passed it over to her as she handed back his credit card. He put it in his wallet and waited. A moment later, she handed him a small folder. "You're in room twelve-seventeen, sir. Elevators to your left. Enjoy your stay, sir."

"Thank you."

He headed for the elevators, already having decided he'd stay only tonight. When he woke up, he'd... he'd do _something_. Go somewhere. He had three weeks before....

The elevator opened and he stepped in and pushed twelve. On the ride up, he decided maybe he'd go up and into Canada. He loved Vancouver and, at Christmas, it was truly beautiful. Yeah, that's what he'd do.

At twelve, he got out, checked the wall opposite to see which direction to turn... and turned left only to freeze.

Twelve-seventeen was only a few doors down, but there was a man seated on the floor in front of it.

No, not "a man"--Jim.

Heart in his throat, Blair walked slowly toward his room. Jim looked up, smiled, and got to his feet.

"Took a little drive, did you?" he asked as Blair came abreast.

"I... yeah. I went to... Rainier, drove around a bit, checked things out."

"It's two in the morning," Jim said unnecessarily.

"Uhm... yeah. Probably is."

"Which means it's Christmas Eve day."

"Yeah, guess so."

Jim moved closer. "You surprised me tonight. I didn't handle it at all like I'd planned."

Blair frowned and thought about taking a step back--but that would be just plain foolish. A man who'd given up a good job at the University of California, San Diego, to take a job with the University at Puget Sound, Comparative Sociology Department, in order to be close to the man he loved didn't step back. He cleared his throat and asked, "What, you planned something because you knew someday I'd show up on your doorstep?"

"Hoped. Hoped you'd show up. I even figured it would be around Christmas--which is why I decorated."

Blair rolled his eyes in exasperation. "My leaving the menorah wasn't a big enough clue, eh?"

Jim frowned and bit his lower lip. "Wait. You left it... on purpose?"

"Well, let's just say my subconscious did."

Eyes narrowing, Jim said, "Six years, Sandburg. Six. Fucking. Years."

Blair shrugged. "What can I say?  I left; it was the right thing to do.  I've been more miserable than I've ever been in my life, but... it was the right thing to do."

"Blair, it was so wrong, I don't even know where to begin. Oh, you had my best interests at heart, I can't deny that, but you failed to realize that your plan didn't serve those interests. But, if you'd just sat down and talked it over with me--we could have made decisions together. We could have had the last fucking six years, Sandburg. Six YEARS."

Now Blair _did_ step back, hands up in surrender. "Whoa, man, chill. This is a hotel, you know? Let's go inside and talk."

"Let's not. Let's go home and talk. You can check out and follow me."

"Jim, I don't think that's... did you say... let's go... home?"

A genuine smile lit up Jim's face. "Yeah, Chief, I did. Let's go... home."

Blair matched his smile.

*****

He parked next to Jim's F-150 and got out of his Explorer. He ran his hand over the hood of Jim's white truck and said, "What happened to--"

"She died in the line of duty. Nice burial, though."

"So you got another F-150? But no racks?"

"No need."

"But camping--"

"Not in the last six years, Chief."

They walked up to the lobby door and Jim pushed it open and let Blair precede him inside. They rode up the elevator; both silent, both deep in thought. When it stopped on three and the door slid open, Jim held Blair back and asked, "Do over?"

Cocking his head, Blair studied him a moment and, finally, nodded. He stepped out and Jim let the doors slide shut. Blair was alone in the hall. He walked over to the loft door and sat down, just the way he'd done earlier. A moment later, Jim stepped out and walked toward him. He stopped two feet away.

"Blair?"

Blair scrambled to his feet, brushed off his jeans, and said, "Hi, Jim. Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah. Long time, no see."

"Too long. But I'm glad you're here now because there's something I've been meaning to tell you... for quite awhile. You see, funny as it would seem--I've fallen in love with you."

Blair started to speak, but Jim held up his hand. "Wait. That was speech number one. Let me give you speech number two and you can choose which one you like the best."

A look of total disbelief on his face, Blair nevertheless nodded.

"You need to say your line again--if you wouldn't mind?"

"You don't want to go back to the elevator, start over from there?" Blair asked dryly.

"No, no, we'll take it from your line. Go ahead," Jim said with a wave of his hand and a humorous gleam in his eyes.

"Right. Okay, so I get up, brush off my jeans, and say, '"Hi, Jim. Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah. Long time, no see."

"Too long. But I'm glad you're here now because all I've wanted to do to you for years is throw you over the back of the couch and--"

Blair started laughing even as he held up his hand to stop Jim. "Oh, brother, there is absolutely no doubt which one I prefer. But could we skip the couch? Rough material and all. Maybe just go directly upstairs?"

"But I haven't finished yet," Jim said, putting a whine in his voice. "There's more."

Schooling his expression into one of seriousness, Blair said, "Oh, okay then... go ahead, what else?"

"Just this."

Jim fisted Blair's blue shirt and pulled him close. Once they were almost chest-to-chest, he did what he'd been dreaming of for years: he kissed that incredible, non-stop talking mouth.

*****

Jim somehow got the door open even though his mouth was plastered to Blair's. Being highly coordinated men, they both got inside even as their tongues were doing the happy dance. Shirts were unceremoniously ripped off amid chortles, laughter and more kissing. The trip upstairs was one for the history books and took a bit over twenty minutes to accomplish. Seemed that Blair had a few fantasies regarding stairs. By the time they actually made it to Jim's bed, both men were naked and Jim's muscles were behaving more like pudding than anything else; thanks to Blair bringing to life his dream of going down on him while Jim was stretched out between the seventh and twelfth steps. Jim didn't ask why, specifically, the seventh and twelfth step--he really didn't want to know. It was enough that it had happened and he'd been the lucky recipient of said fantasy.

Now it was his turn to make a few fantasies take a turn toward reality.

*****

"Where was I when I last wrote you?"

"An island somewhere--with Naomi."

"Oh, yeah, Madagascar. Well, from there, I went to Florida--"

"How does one go from Madagascar to... _Florida_?" Jim asked as he massaged Blair's scalp.

"By plane, Jim. Duh."

"I _mean_ how do you--"

"I know what you mean, asshole," Blair said without the slightest bit of rancor. "Mom pulled some of her magic and as a result, I had the opportunity to get my doctorate in Florida. So I did."

Jim's arm tightened around him. "God, I'm glad. You deserve the title, Chief. But what did you do your dissertation on? Or is receiving your doctorate a new thing?"

"No... I left for Florida not long after our last talk--after your dad passed away. I did a new paper--took me about eight months--turned it in, defended, and voila, I'm Dr. Sandburg. And don't laugh, but my subject was... yep, the police force."

"You're kidding me?"

"Nope. I had reams of material, it just took a while to put it all together in some kind of coherent fashion. It was labeled a breakthrough paper, actually. Anyway, from there, as I said before, I took a teaching position at the University of California, San Diego and I've been there ever since."

"So you've been that close for the last three plus years?"

"I hardly call San Diego close, man."

"Closer than Madagascar, or Europe, or South America."

"I'll give you that one, Jim."

Feeling the goose bumps on Blair's arms, Jim reached down and pulled the comforter up. Once they were both warmed up, he said, "So why didn't you write or call then? I could have come down there--you could have come up here on vacations and such--why did you just disappear?"

"I hardly disappeared, Jim. It would have taken you five minutes to find me.  But by then I knew you wouldn't. And, like I said, it was better for all concerned."

Hearing no condemnation in Blair's voice, Jim asked, "So why now? What's changed?"

"I'm older... and I've grown selfish. It's been years and I simply couldn't make it any longer without you in my life. It's that simple. I applied for a teaching position with the University of Puget Sound while I go for another degree--criminal psychology--which could be a nice fit what with you being a consultant now."

Jim was stunned speechless. He couldn't believe... that Blair had actually....

"So... you're moving here?" Jim asked, incredulity coloring his voice.

"Yeah. My car is full of all my stuff. No furniture, had a furnished place in San Diego."

"The Uni is only a forty minute drive from here," Jim said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, I know," Blair said softly.

"Criminal psychology, eh?"

"Yep."

"Could be very interesting. Maybe... I've actually been considering going back to school myself...."

His body stilling, Blair said, "Really?"

"Yeah. Be kind of fun to lead your life for awhile. All those gorgeous co-eds...."

"You even look at one of them, or any of the football players, and you'll be toast, man."

"Who needs to look with you around?"

"Aw, that was so nice. Life-saving too."

Jim chuckled even as he tilted Blair's face up so that he could kiss him again. When it ended, he murmured, "Simon will be here tomorrow--or I should say today--around two. He's spending the night. He's done it a few times. Got him his own blow-up bed."

Blair laughed at that before saying, "I'd like to see him again." Voice suddenly full of emotion, he added, "I missed him almost as much as you--but in an entirely different way."

"Thank God. So you don't mind?"

"Why would I? You can scream your lust silently, right?"

"Jerk," Jim said as he pulled a short curl. "I do think I'd better call him later this morning and let him know."

"Aw, come on, let's surprise him," Blair encouraged.

"I don't think so, Chief. It's not nice to fool the police commissioner."

"Oh, yeah. So maybe you'd better call him later this morning."

"Brilliant idea. It's nice to know the years have been kind to the gray matter, Chief."

Rubbing Jim's belly, Blair said, "Now there's something I've missed. Being called 'Chief'. Who knew? What made you call me that anyway?"

"I don't know--you just looked so--tribal. The hair, jewelry, your eyes. You were a whack job but your eyes hooked me. They reminded me of Incacha."

"Okay... that's cool."

Jim grinned in the dark. "I swear, you'll be saying that word when you're sixty."

"And you'll be loving it."

"Yeah, Chief, I will."

*****

_Saturday, December 24, 2005_

When Blair woke up, he was briefly confused by the light shining down on him. He rolled over, squinted at the offending brightness and shielded his eyes.

"What the hell?" he muttered as he sat up and looked around.

"You're in our bed, Chief," Jim said loudly from downstairs. "And you had mind-blowing sex last night--several times. It's ten and breakfast will be ready in twenty, which just gives you enough time for a hot shower. Get that cute ass in gear, we've got a lot to do today."

Smiling, Blair tossed the covers over and got out of bed. The loft was warm and comfortable so he didn't bother with putting on his clothes from yesterday. He walked over to his pack, took out a clean pair of jeans, a sweater and clean boxers before heading downstairs.

Jim whistled at the naked apparition that walked down his stairs. "Hot stuff, Chief. I might have to join you in the shower."

"Such a sacrifice," Blair said as he turned down the hall. He gave Jim a small wiggle before disappearing into the bathroom.

With a muttered curse, Jim turned off the fire under the bacon, which thankfully, was done. He quickly removed it to the paper towels and, stripping as he went, he ran into the bathroom.

*****

"It's certainly easier to manage now, isn't it?" Jim said as he stood behind Blair, drying his hair.

"Yeah. I never thought I'd cut it, you know? But when I turned thirty-five--snip-snip. Just seemed right somehow."

Removing the towel, he gave Blair's hair a final rub with the palm of his hand and then swatted him on his bare ass. "Come on, get dressed, we've got pancakes to make."

"Such an invite," Blair said, smiling at Jim's reflection in the mirror.

"Warm maple syrup from Vermont," Jim teased.

"How do I turn that down?" Blair pulled on his boxers and then his jeans and sweater, all with Jim leaning against the wall and watching. When he was dressed, he held out his hands and said, "All done. Let's go make those pancakes."

*****

"Does it seem that this has been too easy?" Jim asked as he finished off the last of his pancakes.

"No," Blair said bluntly. "Six years? Apart? No, easy isn't the word I'd use."

"And yet, within two hours of seeing each other again, we boffing like bunnies? You and me? Two men for whom nothing was easy?"

Blair waved his pancake-laden fork in the air. "It's always been easy for us. You letting me into your life, my moving in and staying, life at Major Crime, jockeying two careers and assorted women... it was always easy for us, Jim. Sure, we each had our issues, but considering how different we were, hell, we should never have been able to tolerate each other, let alone live with each other."

Jim thought about Blair's words... and finally nodded. "Damn, you're right. You're right."

"Newsflash--I'm always right."

"Right. You're right, again."

They grinned at each other and then Blair finished his breakfast.

*****

"Oh, fuck," Jim suddenly muttered.

"... God, don't... stop... what the hell... Jim?!"

"Simon... I... oh, God, shit... yeah...."

*****

"Holy shit, I think I just had an out of body experience," Blair said as his breathing calmed.

Jim's eyes were closed, his head resting on Blair's chest. He yawned and said, "Transformed. I was transformed."

"What the hell were you muttering just as we--"

"Oh, hell!" Jim shot up and literally jumped off the bed. "Simon!"

"What, he's here? Already? But it's only--"

Running down the stairs, Jim yelled back, "I forgot to call him!"

"Huh-oh." Laughing, Blair got out of bed and walked to the head of the stairs. He watched as Jim punched in Simon's number... and shrugged when Jim moaned... and hung up.

"Answering machine. I bet he's on his way. Damn it."

"So, hello? Cell phone?"

Looking suddenly sheepish, Jim picked up the phone and this time punched in Simon's cell. And immediately hung up. Looking panicked, he said, "He just pulled up."

Leering down at him, Blair said, "Well, you might want to put some clothes on then."

*****

Simon walked up to number three-o-seven and frowned. A wreath? Jim put up... a wreath? Jim? Shaking his head in disbelief, he started to knock but Jim opened the door first--which he hadn't done in ages.

"Hey, Simon, you're early," Jim said, looking a whole lot like a man who had a secret--a good secret.

"Yes, I'm early. This is a problem, Jim? And since when do you put up wreaths?"

Jim stepped aside to allow Simon entrance and said, "Oh, you know, the spirit just kind of... snuck up on me." He closed the door and said, "Here, let me take that. Is this your creamed corn?"

"Yeah, as promised. What...."

Simon's voice trailed off and Jim, after setting the casserole dish down, turned to see what was wrong and found Simon standing by Blair's menorah.

"Jim?"

"Oh, yeah. I... put that up on Friday. Hanukkah starts... you know, on Tuesday."

"Yes, I'm aware. But you see, you're not Jewish, Jim. And Blair is--"

"Jewish and right here, Simon," Blair said.

Simon whirled around so fast, his glasses actually flew from his face. He caught them, fumbled with them, steadied his hand and put them back on. "Sandburg?"

"Yep, it's me, Simon."

"Sandburg!?"

"I see the years have been good to his observational skills," Blair said with a grin.

"Yeah, well, he's the Commish now, Chief. So tread easy."

The two men stood side-by-side, shoulders touching as they smiled at Simon, whose mouth was hanging open. He finally said, "How? When? Why didn't you--"

"Yesterday, and we got... busy," Jim explained. "And I forgot until a short time ago, to call you and give you a head's up. But you'd already left. Sorry."

With great purpose, Simon put the large red shopping bag down, walked toward Blair, and engulfed him in a huge bear hug. Jim stepped aside and watched, his eyes going suspiciously moist due to the emotion telegraphing itself to him from his old friend.

When Simon finally loosened his hold on Blair, he said, voice gruff, "I know why you did what you did--and I admire you for it, Sandburg. But it was wrong on so many levels. We needed to circle the wagons around you and Jim and it was a time to rely on your friends to return some of the protection the two of you had been providing for three years."

His own eyes glistening with unshed tears, Blair said, "I couldn't risk it, Simon. Couldn't risk all of you like that. Just couldn't do it. Don't you see that? It was so much easier for one person to leave than to risk careers and lives. But... thank you for saying what you did, Simon. Thank you."

Simon blinked hard behind his glasses, made some odd rumbling sounds, and finally, after clearing his throat several times, said, "So... you're home, then?"

Jim pulled Blair into his side and kept his arm around Blair's waist as he said, "He's home, Simon. For good and... forever."

Simon looked from one to the other, at the closeness of their bodies, the expectant and slightly worried expressions on their faces... and grinned.

"Well, it's about damn time."

*****

"We're actually going to the mall... on Christmas Eve?" Blair asked, incredulous.

"We are," Simon said. "Come on, get your jacket and let's go. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can be back home and cooking our holiday dinner."

With a look that said they'd lost the battle, the skirmish _and_ the war, Jim handed Blair his jacket.

*****

"You know, that wasn't so bad," Blair said as they walked into the loft, bags in hand. "I'd forgotten how it could be. All that desperation warring with the holiday spirit. It's just so... motivating."

"I see he hasn't lost that sick sense of humor," Simon said as he walked over to the tree.

"Noticed that, did you?" Jim said as he joined Simon.

"Hey, when did I disappear?" Blair asked as he took his two bags over to the tree. He'd stopped on the way back in and retrieved one bag from his car and now, like Jim and Simon, was taking presents out of them and setting them under the tree.

"That would be... six years ago," Simon answered.

"You walked into that one, Chief."

"Yeah, yeah. So, what's for dinner?"

"You mean besides my creamed corn?" Simon asked.

"We're having a standing rib roast and Yorkshire pudding, Simon's creamed corn, a salad, roasted potatoes and pumpkin pie. Does that meet with everyone's approval?" Jim asked.

Simon looked questioningly over at Blair, who nodded. They both then said, "Oh, yeah."

"Then let's get cooking."

By seven, the table was set--for three--the hurricane lamp lit, the Christmas lights on, Frank Sinatra's Christmas album, circa nineteen-fifty-eight on the CD player, and all three men were delivering the various foods to the table. Once everything was set, they sat down, Jim at one end, Simon the other, and Blair in the middle. Jim sliced the bone from the roast and then cut thick slices for each of them. The side dishes and salad were passed around; the wine poured. When all three plates and wine glasses were full, Simon raised his glass and said, "To the future and many more holidays like this one."

"Here, here," Jim and Blair said as they clinked glasses with Simon and sipped their wine.

With that, the three men began to eat while catching up on each other's lives, although Jim couldn't fail to notice how Blair kept looking into his old room--with everything intact--and the small decorated tree.

*****

"You sure you don't want to open at least one gift tonight?" Blair wheedled.

"We're sure, Sandburg." Simon turned to face Jim and asked, "How old is he again?"

"Does it matter, Simon?" Blair answered for Jim. "I'll always be way younger than you two."

"For that, we should replace his last-minute gifts with coal," Jim decided.

"I like that idea."

"Was I lying? Won't I always be younger? Won't you guys see," he leaned forward, "fifty long before me? And sixty five? And eighty? Huh?"

Simon got up and, brandy glass in hand, started for the kitchen. As he passed Jim, he patted the top of his head and said, "All too true, and even though I'll see those years before either of you... I'll see them with a full head of hair... unlike some I could mention."

"Oooh, good one, Simon," Blair said as he took his and Jim's glasses and followed Simon into the kitchen for more brandy.

"I'm feeling put upon, here," Jim said as he rubbed the top of his head.

Both glasses refilled with brandy, Blair handed one to Jim, even as he kissed the same spot Jim had rubbed. "With your killer smile, who'll notice a less-than-full mop, eh?"

"Oh, God, it's getting deep in here," Simon groused as he retook his seat.

Laughing, Blair sat down next to Jim--deliberately close--and rested his hand on Jim's leg. If this was going to make Simon uncomfortable, it was better to find out now. He glanced over at him, his eyes almost daring Simon to say anything.

Simon simply smiled and raised his glass in a small salute before taking a sip.

Satisfied and strangely happy, Blair relaxed and said, "So... are we certain we don't want to open one gift now?"

*****

_Sunday, December 25, 2005_

Christmas morning dawned cold and gray as three men struggled to get up, take showers and complete their usual ablutions in an apartment with only one bathroom. Jim was finished first and got Simon's bed taken down, the lights on and the blinds up. He started coffee and toasted bagels while setting out a couple of different cream cheese spreads. By the time the coffee was ready, Simon came out of the bathroom, his nose leading him the steaming mug in Jim's hand.

"I will love you forever," Simon croaked out as he took the godly offering.

"I'm blushing," Jim said as he passed over a plate holding a hot toasted bagel on it.

"Why?" Blair said as he passed the kitchen on his way to the bathroom, having been the last one to wake up. "Is there something about you two I should know? Are we about to become a threesome?"

Before Jim could answer and while Simon was choking on his bagel, Blair walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

"Did he... did he just... tell me he didn't," Simon spluttered.

"He did and, right now, he's laughing his ass off," Jim said as he took his coffee and bagel into the living room.

"I'm gonna kill him," Simon warned.

"Just like old times, eh, Simon?"

Simon's expression changed, the frown smoothing out as he realized what Jim had said. Looking slightly sheepish, he joined Jim. "Yeah, it is."

*****

Once Blair joined them with his coffee and bagel, they started the gift opening with the radio playing Christmas music in the background. Since Blair had been an unknown quantity and the shopping for his gifts done the night before, they had a great deal of fun with gag gifts. Simon chortled over the rubber finger guards claiming that now that Blair was back, he'd be typing up Jim's reports again. His chortles turned to full blown laughter when Blair opened his second gift: a bottle of Grecian Formula. Of course, the third gift was a cashmere sweater in a deep forest green and solicited a heartfelt "thank you" from Blair.

Blair had come to Cascade in hopes of starting over and he'd brought gifts for both Jim and Simon with him, but that hadn't stopped him from purchasing a couple of extra gifts the night before.

One of which Simon was opening now.

He took off the lid of the shirt-sized box and folded back to the tissue to find himself staring at a photo of himself--imprinted onto a white tee shirt. Under the photo was the caption, "Commissioner Banks: His bite is worse than his bark."

Laughing, he held it up for Jim to see as he said, "Daryl will love this and you know I'm going to wear it on casual Friday. Don't think I won't."

Jim turned to his last minute Blair-gift and got it open only to find a tube of Rogaine for Men. He snorted, held it up and said, "We're quite the pair, Chief. I don't have a single gray hair but need this, and you don't need this--"

"Yet," Simon interjected with a wicked grin.

"Yet," Jim amended. "But you have gray hair... in _spite_ of the fact that you're ten years younger than Simon, who has none, and eight years younger than me, who has... none. Gee, amazing."

"Oh, shut up," Blair said with a smile.

Jim's joke gifts weren't over as he opened another small box, this one containing a GI Joe doll... wearing a cape and a red "S" painted on his shirt.

"I kind of made it," Blair admitted. "Thought it might be... kind of fun. Keep it by the bedside...."

"You brought this one with you," Jim said, amazed.

"Yeah. Simon, if you open that matching sized box...."

Puzzled, Simon reached over, took the box, unwrapped it and got the lid off. He dug through the tissue and....

"My God," he breathed out. He lifted the item and held it up for Jim to see.

It was one of the dolls from the Superman collection--Perry White--a _black_ Perry White. He had a cigar in his mouth and was obviously growling out an order.

Chuckling, Jim said, "Okay, that one is perfect. And since we all seem to have similar ideas, Chief, why don't you pull that little one out." He indicated a red, foil wrapped box, which Blair pulled out.

He unwrapped it and found himself staring at an Iolaus action figure--with glasses. Stunned, Blair said, "You couldn't have done this last night, Jim. How--"

"I've had it... a while," Jim admitted. "I saw it in a store while I was looking for something to send my nephew. I couldn't resist. Joel's wife got the glasses for me from a craft store. Silly, huh?"

"No... not silly. Iolaus and Hercules." He favored Jim with a brilliant grin. "I like it."

"Humph. Three grown men--playing with dolls. We need our heads examined," Simon said with a huff.

"Like we haven't known that from day one," Blair said.

Jim lifted his coffee mug. "To the Three Whackos."

Raising his, Blair said, "To the Three Whackos."

"Ditto," Simon said as he joined them in the toast.

"I guess we've come full circle, more or less," Blair mused. "It started with the three of us and here we are, after nine years, a little older--"

"One of us a little grayer," Simon teased.

"A little grayer," Blair acquiesced. "But together. Seems... rightfully weird."

All three were silent for a few moments... until Blair said, "Okay, back to the greedy part of Christmas--my favorite, by the way. Let's get the rest of these opened."

*****

"Never in a million years would I have believed that the three of us would be sitting around a Christmas tree in two-thousand and five," Simon said as he looked around the loft.

"Me either," Jim said softly. "Always hoped, tried to believe... but damn, it was getting harder with each passing year."

"I know. I know."

Blair was in the kitchen putting the leftovers from the previous evening into the oven while Jim and Simon relaxed after cleaning up and napping while pretending to watch a game. Now Jim indicated the menorah and said, "You'll miss tomorrow."

"Yeah, but we already have the Kwanzaa activities planned--you'll be missing out too.    Hanukkah is eight days long, Jim.  All it'll take is one invite and Daryl and I _and_ his girlfriend will be here."

"How 'bout New Year's Day, then," Blair said as he rejoined them.

"Hey, great idea. Simon?"

"We weren't planning on going anywhere--I suspect Daryl will love the idea. We'll make a real party of it. But let us bring all the food, all right?"

"Don't have to twist our arms, Simon," Jim said with a laugh.

"Then we have a date."

"We do," Blair agreed.

*****

"It was a great holiday, Jim."

Smiling down at his partner, Jim nodded. "It was considerably better than I thought it would be, that's for sure. I will be forever grateful for your courage and of course, you're selfishness."

Grinning, Blair craned his neck so he could kiss Jim. Something that he doubted would ever get old.

"Upstairs?" Jim murmured against his lips.

"Yeah."

*****

_Monday, December 26, 2005_

The twenty-sixth was spent, for the most part, in bed. They made love, talked, planned, ate, and made more love. At three, Jim decided they just _had_ to have latkes, which meant a run to the store. While there, he also decided they _absolutely_ had to have donuts. Since neither of them felt like getting that involved in cooking, Blair purchased a tube of buttermilk biscuits--to the puzzlement of Jim--and a jar of raspberry jelly.

"You have oil, right?"

"Yeah, but I don't know where you're going with this, Chief."

"You will, don't worry. You got the applesauce and sour cream?"

"Got it."

"All right, let's check out, man. I'm hungry."

They went through the check-out line, grateful that grocery stores weren't on the list of places to hit on the day-after-Christmas sales.

Once back at the loft, they put away the groceries and then went to work on prepping the potatoes for the latkes. Blair grated them while Jim grated the sweet onion (his choice). Both were then pressed completely dry by Jim while Blair got out a bowl. He cracked an egg into it and whisked it quickly before adding flour, baking powder, salt and pepper. When that was mixed, Jim dumped in the potatoes and onions and then put the bowl in the fridge. The applesauce and sour cream were parceled out into small bowls and, while Blair put together another salad, Jim set the table and took out another bottle of wine; this time a nice Chardonnay.

It was almost sunset and Jim knew that Blair followed the 'shortly after the sun sets' edict for lighting his menorah. He was therefore surprised when Blair pulled out his cell phone.

"Chief?"

"I made a promise that Mom and I would light the first night together. You don't mind, do you?"

Giving him a soft, tender smile, Jim shook his head. "Not at all. Where's your yarmulke?"

"In my pack" he answered while waiting for his mother to pick up. "The candles are there too."

"I'll get them and matches. Be right back."

Jim disappeared upstairs and was just coming back down when Naomi answered.

_"Blair, honey?"_

"Yeah, Mom, it's me. You ready?"

_"I am. Where are you?"_

"I'm in Cascade--as planned."

_"Blair?"_

"I'm with Jim, Mom."

_"As in... with?"_

Laughing, Blair said, "Yeah, Mom. With."

_"I guess we really do have a miracle to be thankful for this Hanukkah, don't we, sweetie?"_

"Yeah, we do," Blair answered as he glanced over at Jim, who was standing a few feet away, the yarmulke dangling from his fingertips.

_"I guess we should get started, then."_

"Okay. Turn up your volume. I'm going to set the phone down on the table with the menorah."

_"All right."_

He set his cell down after turning up its volume, and then took the candles, matches and yarmulke from Jim, who then sat down in the yellow chair opposite the table. Blair put the yarmulke on his head, took out one of the special non-flickering candles out of the box and set it in the holder to the farthest right of center. He lifted the shamash, lit it with a match, which he then blew out and set down, tip bent upwards.

"Mom, I have the shamash lit."

_"So do I, honey. Go ahead."_

"I am hereby ready and prepared to fulfill the Commandment of Lighting the Hanukkah Menorah." He paused, and then said, "Boruch Attah Adonoy, Elohainu Melech ha-olam, asher kidishanu b'mitzvotav, v'tsivanu l'hadlik ner shel Hanukkah." With a glance over at Jim, he repeated the blessing in English.

"Blessed are You, Hashem our G-d, King of the universe, Who performed miracles for our ancestors in those days at this time. Boruch Attah Adonoy, Elohainu Melech ha-olam, she-asah nissim la'avosainu bayamim hahaim bazman hazeh. Blessed are You, Hashem our G-d, King of the universe, Who performed miracles for our ancestors in those days at this time." And because it was the first night, Blair added the third blessing. "Boruch Attah Adonoy, Elohainu Melech ha-olam, she-hecheyanu, vikiyamanu, vihigianu lazman hazeh. Blessed are You, Hashem our G-d, King of the universe, Who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to this time."

With that, he lit the one candle, knowing that his mother was doing the same three states away. When he was done, he sang, his voice rich and low, "We kindle these lights because of the miracles, the wonders, the salvations, and the victories that You, Hashem, did for our ancestors in this season, through the agency of Your holy Kohanim. Throughout the eight days of Hanukkah, these lights are holy, and we may not use them for anything. We may only look at them, to enrich the experience of thanking and praising Your holy and great Name for Your wonders and Your salvations."

He bowed his head for a moment before picking up the phone and saying, "Mom?"

_"Thank you, Blair. That was beautiful. Next year, I promise, we'll be together, all right?"_

"Mom, we're together this year."

_"How did I raise a such a wise son?"_

"Now there's the sixty-four thousand dollar question, Mom."

_"Brat. Say hello to Jim for me, all right? I love you, sweetie._

"I will, Mom. Love you back. Bye." He ended the call and pocketed the phone. For a moment, he remained where he was, watching the candle.

Jim got up, walked up behind him, and wrapped his arms around Blair. "That was beautiful, Chief. And very special sharing it with your mother like that."

Blair looked at their reflection in the window, and his breath was almost taken from him as he gazed at the expression of love on Jim's face. The smile was soft, beautiful and unlike any he'd ever seen on his friend--and now lover. And it was for him. Because of him. He wondered if his own love was as transparent.

"I love you, Blair Sandburg," Jim said as he kissed Blair's temple.

"I love you, James Joseph Ellison."

The End

 

  
**Disclaimer:** All characters from **The Sentinel** are the property of Pet Fly Productions, Danny Bilson and Paul DeMeo. Characters from any other television show, movie or book are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. We believe the works contained in this archive to be transformative in nature and therefore protected under the 'fair use' provisions of copyright law.

This story archived at <http://asr3.slashzone.org/archive/viewstory.php?sid=1274>


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